


juvenescent

by xinmood



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Binhwan - Freeform, First Love, M/M, Oneshot, Pining, and also a songwriter, bjin - Freeform, hanbin is a romanticist, hanbin-centric, he has a lot of feelings, phew binhwan rly got me yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xinmood/pseuds/xinmood
Summary: In which a songwriter laments the time he left a part of his youth in Jeju.





	juvenescent

**Author's Note:**

> somehow i thoroughly enjoyed writing this one more than the 6k bh word vomit i posted last week....
> 
> i think i like writing self-indulgent and romanticist!hanbin way too much lmao [ skull emoji ]
> 
> inspired loosely from ikon's don't forget. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it huhuhu ♡

 

_To you,_

 

_Who seemed like a summer night’s dream_

 

_Thank you for being like the wind I used to envy_

 

_For being like the dependable sand against my palm_

 

_The scent of vanilla and the earth that I wish I had never forgotten_

 

_One that reminded me of what it was like_

 

_To be alive and in love_

 

_Day one; -_

 

 

 

With every breath Hanbin took came new sensations that he had slowly come to identify. The considerably harsh grit of the sand against his fingers, the scent of salt and the breeze, and the sound of waves a sweet lull to his ears. He let himself be engulfed by a consciousness much bigger than him and in turn he felt like he was floating. It was an addicting feeling - it felt like he was on top of the world, and nothing could really touch him in that fragment of time and space.

 

That was, until the first drop of rain hit his cheek.

 

Almost instantaneously he felt himself be pulled back to the more well-known tangible plane of existence, to a particular reality he had willed so hard to escape, and cast his gaze forlornly on the looming clouds above him as his expression turned sour.

 

 _So much for that,_ he grumbled to himself, and shielded his eyes from the raindrops as he sat back up hurriedly, wanting to avoid the oncoming downpour as much as he could. The disparity between his once-tranquil state of mind and the rush of thoughts telling him to seek shelter resulted in an incessant pounding in his head. He quickly formulated a list in his mind: _first, get the notebook and pen into the bag. Check._

 

_Second, get to shelter._

 

He was ready to stand and run for it when he felt the conspicuous absence of raindrops against his skin. Hanbin frowned, confused, and then tilted his head back to meet the gaze of a dusty haired boy who didn’t seem that much older than him - _maybe even younger,_ was his first thought - a black umbrella held firmly in his grasp.

 

Hanbin couldn’t explain the slight turn of his stomach upon seeing him. He looked to be shorter than him, with features so soft and delicate he seemed ethereal. Eyes that shone with a peculiar sort of kindness that Hanbin couldn’t find in the hard-worn faces of the people in his city back home. He seemed almost like -

 

“A fairy,” he breathed, and then he paled.

 

_Oh, hell. Please tell me I did not just say that out loud._

 

He wanted more than anything for the ground below to swallow him whole, but the world was never so merciful. He fumbled for words as he stood up quickly, missing the twitch of amusement in the _fairy’s_ lips. Hanbin smiled and hoped to hell it wasn’t awkward. He bowed in haste while his hands clutched his bag to his chest a little too tightly.

 

“Hey, thanks for that,” he began, and did a mental cheer when his voice didn’t shake. “I didn’t really expect it to rain. As you could probably tell.”

 

The boy smiled and Hanbin noticed his arm shift upwards to accommodate his height. _He’s so small,_ he thought before the rational part of his brain kicked in and chastised him for being rude - But it was all he could really focus on, because if he had looked into his eyes too long he was convinced he might have an aneurysm.

 

“I can see that,” the boy chuckled and Hanbin flushed in embarrassment. “It happens a lot here, in Jeju. Better to be prepared for anything.”

 

Hanbin nodded dumbly for a second too long, and then the boy tilted his head and cleared his throat softly, glancing around at the loud downpour that had softened to an ambient drizzle.

 

“So, where are you headed today?”

 

 

 

 

_Day one thousand and thirty five ;-_

 

 

 

 

Hanbin remembered the pleasant feeling that came with his naiveté. He remembered the breeze, and he remembered him.

 

His fingers moved to play a mellow chord on the keyboard in front of him, and the rest was history.

 

 

 

 

_Day two;-_

 

 

 

Hanbin loved the mountains.

 

That day he sat himself as close to the edge as he could, his gaze unseeing as his mind once again took in the secondary senses he usually never paid attention to. He tried to pick out the underlying scent of nature from the more primary scent of dust in the air and wondered if he could put a name to it. It smelled like wet leaves, he’d thought, a scent of autumn that was more distinctive compared to the one in the city. He liked to humor himself by imagining the view without really seeing it with his eyes - he’d spend hours visualising a wishful sort of world before him, a world that was untouched by man and society. A world where he could see everything and anything he wanted with a mind as clear as the skies above him.

 

He furrowed his brow as he suddenly caught a scent of something more fragrant, something like vanilla - it was familiar and yet it wasn’t at the same time. And then he remembered.

 

 _The fairy from yesterday._ He cringed at the slight sentiment he seemed to attach to the questionable nickname. He really ought to find out his name soon - when the time was right, he didn’t want to pry, he thought to himself. And then that same familiar voice willed him away from his muddled thoughts.

 

“Oh, we meet again,” the boy grinned, and Hanbin thought that he had one of the prettiest smiles he had ever seen.

 

 

 

 

_Day one thousand and thirty six ;-_

 

 

 

 

Hanbin tried to remember the distinct scent of vanilla that he had gotten so used to all those years ago.

 

He remembered the smell of earth, of rocks and of the idealised world around him. He remembered the wind in his hair and the dust on his fingertips - but he couldn’t for the life of him recall the distinct scent of vanilla, a scent that was all too fleeting and all too evasive.

 

His grip on his pen and paper tightened, and he decided that perhaps sleep would do him some good.

 

 

 

_Day four;-_

 

 

 

 

 _It must be fate,_ was Hanbin’s first thought when he saw the familiar silhouette by the riverbank. He would’ve wondered why he the boy seemed to appear everywhere he went, but the rush of the waterfall was loud and it distracted him from a lot of rational thoughts, really. Which was why he found his feet unconsciously bringing him closer to the boy who sat cross-legged by the edge, his back a picture of content serenity from the lack of tension in his shoulders. He came to a stop behind him and as if on cue, the boy in question glanced back at him, a look of surprise etched in his features.

 

“H-Hi, I thought I’d just say hello if that’s okay,” Hanbin didn’t realise he was speaking until he finished his sentence, and then he fumbled for words that could make him seem less like a creep. “Jeju seems so small because I keep bumping into you everywhere.”

 

Hanbin shifted his feet awkwardly while the other boy smiled up at him, the soft brightness in his eyes rendering him speechless for a moment. Thankfully he spoke up and gave Hanbin time to gather his thoughts.

 

“It’s like the world really wants us to be friends, huh?” the boy grinned, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He didn’t notice Hanbin’s nervous fidgeting as he scooted over to make room for the poor boy. “Care to join me? I’m by myself too.”

 

Hanbin blinked and stared down at the boy who radiated a kind of aura that was tranquil yet strangely commanding all the same. Like a leader in the shadows, kind of. He shook himself out of his thoughts as he took the boy’s invite, settling down comfortably with an appropriate amount of space between them.

 

“So what brings you to Seogwipo?” he asked, leaning back on his palms. “I kind of figured, with the lack of umbrella and all.”

 

Hanbin smiled in embarrassment and shook his head. “I needed time off,” he said honestly. “Needed to get inspired again.”

 

He fumbled with his film camera in his hand, fingers playing with it out of habit. The boy glanced at his busy hands, and then back to his face. “You’re a photographer?”

 

“Not really.” Hanbin licked his lips, “I just like to document memories. I’m actually a songwriter - or that’s what I hope to be, at least.”

 

Something about the boy beside him made Hanbin speak more candidly than usual. It was odd, but he didn’t really feel the need to hide anything from him. Besides, he’d decided he was only going to stay for a few weeks, and then go back to the life he dreaded with hopefully a new perspective on things. Hopefully being the key term.

 

The boy raised an eyebrow in interest, leaning forwards to face Hanbin. “That’s an admirable dream.”

 

Hanbin didn’t notice his gaze that was fully focused on his hunched form. “Is it?” he mumbled absentmindedly, but then perked up as if he remembered where he was, and who he was in the presence of.

 

The boy tilted his head and Hanbin met his gaze this time, wishing he knew what he was thinking. “Would you let me listen to them sometime?”

 

“A-ah,” he blinked, and - _damn it, why is that all that I can do around this guy -_ stumbled over his words. “I actually don’t sing well, I like to write more than anything, but sure, maybe.”

 

He hadn’t even meant to say ‘maybe’. He’d fully intended on saying no, but there he was, agreeing to it. Hanbin blamed the loud waterfall for disrupting his ability to make remotely good decisions.

 

But then the boy grinned and it left Hanbin to wonder why he’d wanted to say no in the first place.

 

“That’s exciting,” he grinned, and Hanbin had half a mind to tell him to stop doing that. “I actually sing, so it’s really cool to hear about music and songwriting from you.”

 

That revelation sparked a flurry of thoughts in Hanbin’s mind. With a sudden surge of enthusiasm, he turned to the boy with a hopeful expression that stunned him for a little while. And then Hanbin gained the courage to speak.

 

“Will you sing some of my songs with me?”

 

 

 

 

_Day one thousand and thirty seven ;-_

 

 

 

 

The pen fell from Hanbin’s slackened grasp.

 

He was tired from racking his brain to remember.

 

He’d recalled the sound of the loud waterfall crashing against the river. He’d recalled the birds chirping in the trees.

 

But he couldn’t remember the one detail he so desperately wished he could. He couldn’t remember the sweet lull, the sweet voice of the boy who had moved his heart, who had sung with all his soul and passion. The one who had breathed life into his amateurish songs and made them seem better than they actually were.

 

But he was sure his voice would have been like honey. Like water flowing in the stream, like a cool wind against skin in the warm summer heat. He thought to himself that his voice would have brought comfort to him the way the soft thrumming of his iMac filled the large silence of his studio, making him feel a little less alone. Like careless laughter, like the sun beating down on the earth the only way it could, like a kind of freedom that you could only wish for in another lifetime.

 

And so he wrote all of that down in his worn notebook, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t all just wishful thinking.

 

 

 

_Day seven;-_

 

 

 

Among the aromas of seafood and soju, the boy told Hanbin of his name.

 

“Kim Jinhwan,” Hanbin repeated, carefully enunciating each syllable.

 

He thought to himself that he fitted that name, and he quite liked saying it.

 

 

 

_Day one thousand and thirty eight;-_

 

 

 

 

He’d repeated the name for the 30th time, and all it’d done was rekindle a distant ache in his chest that he thought he’d buried years ago.

 

He comforted himself with the supposition that maybe, Jinhwan had done the same thing at one point of his life.  _Maybe._

 

 

 

_Day thirty five;-_

 

 

 

 

Solace; the only word that graced the forefront of Hanbin’s thoughts.

 

Being with Jinhwan brought upon him a calm stillness to his ever rampant thoughts. It was a startling, yet slow revelation that had built up over the past few weeks and had Hanbin feeling slightly rattled. In the times Jinhwan had accompanied him, he discovered that the man was unfiltered, in his own way. The fact that he was easy to read, wearing his emotions on his sleeve - if he was happy, he was happy. If he was agitated, he’d show it.

 

Hanbin grew to enjoy observing his reactions, and thought that _maybe, I can be like that too._

 

_I can face the world without having to wear a mask._

 

That night they were on the same beach where Jinhwan had first found him. It filled him with an immense feeling of nostalgia despite the memory still thirty-four days fresh in his mind. He felt the harsh grit of sand again, heard the breeze and the sound of waves rushing ashore, and it became a welcome overload on his senses.

 

He allowed himself to bask in the feeling, for tomorrow would be the day he wouldn’t be able to experience it anymore. The brief taste of freedom would leave him starving, but he disregarded the fact and decided to focus his thoughts on the wind and the boy who lay quietly beside him.

 

“Hanbin?”

 

The boy in question turned to the elder man who seemed to hesitate in voicing his question.

 

“Can we take a picture with your camera?”

 

Hanbin blinked and wondered why he never remembered to take one of them before. He leaned up, following the elder boy who’d rose to a sitting position, and fumbled with his polaroid that was the only camera left with him that had film in it. He debated using his phone, and then remembered that he’d deliberately chosen to fall off the grid, having only his rusted camera-less Nokia armed with him. Sometimes he really did wonder why he chose to do the things he did.

 

He held it up at arm’s length, mumbling a soft “get a little closer” in Jinhwan’s ear, not noticing the flush on the latter’s cheeks. He nearly regretted saying it when he felt his heart go _thump, thump, thump,_ hoping to God Jinhwan didn’t hear it with his close proximity, but swallowed his feelings down as the camera flash blinded him for just a moment.

 

“One for you, and one for me,” he’d said as he waved the film in his hand, getting ready to take another when he realised that he’d used up all his remaining ones.

 

He squashed the feeling of disappointment and annoyance, sighing at his lack of foresight and promising that he’d stop by a shop to restock tomorrow. But he knew it was impossible because his flight was at 6 in the morning, and it wouldn’t open till at least 9. Jinhwan smiled at him regardless, all soft and understanding, mumbling for Hanbin to take it as something to remember him by and said he’d take one with him later with his phone that he’d left back at his place - though he never really did.

 

Hanbin spent the last few hours with the film clutched tightly in his hand, the other preoccupied with an interlacing of fingers, the soft palm of Kim Jinhwan pressing reassuringly against his.

 

 

 

_Day one thousand and thirty nine;-_

 

 

 

A part of Hanbin wished he had never left.

 

 

_Day thirty six;-_

 

 

 

He watched as the clouds bleed into one another, the view a montage he couldn’t help but pay attention to for a reason unknown to him. He could feel the harsh airplane seat against his back, forcing him into a position that he had never been fond of. He recognised the sharp smell of plane and fresh laundry, cheap perfume and the distant scent of the sea that seemed to be fading as the ride went on.

 

He focused on everything but the painful longing in his chest, a signal that he missed out on something far greater, his body yelling at him that _you’ve made a mistake, you should turn back right now._

 

As the sky went by, he thought back on the memories of a certain dusty haired man, of his soft smiles and comforting voice, of fingers interlaced and gazes heavy with a feeling he couldn’t really describe. He couldn’t really think of anything else for the thrumming ache in his chest grew more and more painful with each recollection, so he willed himself to shut the lid and be done with it. To look forward with a new vision because he had done what he had to do.

 

And so he let his memories dull down into a soft hum of what ifs and what could’ve beens - and decided that that would be enough for him.

  


_Day one thousand and forty;-_

 

 

 

Hanbin found the picture he’d locked up in his drawer all those years ago.

 

He looked upon it then, the tide of emotions inevitable. He saw the faces of two boys, one of them him, slightly younger and more naive. His cheeks fuller and expression a mix of nervousness and a flutter of contentment. He remembered being despondent all those years ago. And yet in his eyes, five years ago, he saw the slight spark of joy that brought out the youth he had so very much craved to experience. He wondered, distantly, if he could ever find that spark at his fingertips again.

 

And then he allowed his gaze to look upon the boy that was so far away from him. The boy who was unyielding in the way he carried himself. Hanbin’s first love; and Hanbin’s youth.

 

It was as he vaguely remembered. The same soft eyes he thought about in the back of his mind, being defined clearly again after his memories diminished the image of them as time passed. His hair, a peculiar shade between grey and blonde, one that he’d affectionately described as ‘dusty’, for lack of a better word. He traced the shape of his features, his lips, his jaw, and then gazed in quiet contemplation at the hand that rested comfortably on Hanbin’s shoulder.

 

He wondered why he couldn’t remember more of his escapade. A turning point of his younger years that held so much significance and meaning at the time, and didn’t seem all that important as he currently stood at 24 years of age. He only recalled the firsts - the first time he boarded a plane by himself, the first time he traveled by himself. The first time he exchanged words with Jinhwan, and the first time he made him laugh. He thought that perhaps those were the moments that he found sentimentality in the most.

 

As he sat there, pondering the ifs and whens, he’d like to think that Jinhwan would have been doing the same thing. Maybe he was on that beach again, and maybe the sand was softer than usual under his fingertips, reminding him of the nineteen year old boy who hadn’t held much hope in his eyes. Maybe he was trying hard to remember the slight of his jaw, or the way his coarse hands had fit into his in a manner of hopeful complacency. Maybe he still held Kim Hanbin in his heart just as he held Kim Jinhwan in his.

 

Hanbin’s stomach churned as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Slowly, he shuffled over to his desk and put pen to paper, the film held firmly in his grasp, as if he wished he could relive the moment all over again.

 

And so in his flurry of nostalgia and unbidden thoughts, he let himself write.

 

He wrote about his first love. A love that was fleeting, a love that left him wondering about fate and time. A love that he still hung on to despite the many years that had passed, for that was what a first love was to him. A shroud of mystery and wonder that had spelled so many possibilities left unexplored. It was a beautiful, idealistic memory that stood out in its stark purity. A contrast to his now weathered down self.

 

His first love was a blissful once upon a time.

 

Hanbin stayed the night, eyes bleary with the sting of a feeling he didn’t want to put a name to, the lyrics pouring out of him as he wondered distantly how Jinhwan would sound like singing his songs.

 

His last wish before letting his eyelids slide shut was, _if you’re out there, Kim Jinhwan,_

 

_I hope my songs find you where I couldn’t._

  
  


_To you,_

 

_Who seems so far away now_

 

_Thank you for being_

 

_The youth that_

 

_I never once had, for being_

 

_An unrelenting memory,_

 

_a wishful once upon a time_

 

_In the twenty four odd years_

 

_I’ve ever felt alive._

 


End file.
